


Directionless

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Directionless [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Directedverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-01
Updated: 2007-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one of the next universes over, sexual attraction is not guided along lines of gender, but along lines of power--dominators to submissives, tops to bottoms. Allison Cameron didn't expect a lifestyle revelation when she accepted her fellowship at Princeton-Plainsboro, but given her boss and her co-workers, she may very well have to deal with one. Spoilers through "Hunting" in Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Directionless

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a universe created by [](http://helenish.livejournal.com/profile)[**helenish**](http://helenish.livejournal.com/) for her Stargate: Atlantis story [Take Clothes Off As Directed.](http://helenish.livejournal.com/144338.html)

Dr. Cuddy seemed almost... disappointed when Allison Cameron met her for the first time.

"Welcome to Princeton-Plainsboro," the older woman said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm, her pantsuit sharp and executive, and her hair was a good deal longer than Cameron's, held in place with clips and braids that probably took her sub half an hour to adjust. Cameron felt a momentary twinge of envy. "I'm Dr. Cuddy, head of administration. If you have any trouble with Dr. House, come talk with me."

The tone of voice she used indicated she expected trouble. "I'm really looking forward to working here," Cameron said. "It's a prestigious fellowship."

Dr. Cuddy nodded, slowly, then sighed. "Look, I'll give it to you straight," she said. "Dr. House is... overwhelming. And tactless. And misanthropic. He's also the best diagnostician this hospital has ever seen. He's hard to handle."

Cameron smiled confidently. "I've handled some pretty hard-to-handle people in my time."

Cuddy smiled back, but it seemed tense. "House... House is a top who makes other tops nervous," she finally said. "Just watch your step."

* * *

Her co-worker, Dr. Chase, was a switch. It was the weirdest thing she'd had to deal with all week, besides Dr. House.

She'd met switches before, of course! In college. And tops pretending to be switches in order to get subs, and vice versa. But she wasn't _used_ to it. And so... Chase. Who she couldn't stop sneaking glances at out of the corner of her eye for the first week or so. He was pretty enough for a sub, with dark blond hair that would have been long for a dom, perfectly manicured fingernails... she refused to let herself imagine him tied down on her bed, and distracted herself by wondering how he'd managed to land his submissive, a teensy redhead named Emily who wore locked-on ballet-point stilettos when she came to pick him up from work, and even with their help still only came up to his shoulder.

By the end of the week, she'd finally figured out that the head of oncology, Dr. Wilson, wasn't actually collared to House, and that the thin gold torque around his neck actually came from his wife. Who was a banker or an office manager or something; House either wasn't sure, didn't care, or didn't think that the marriage--actually, he'd said "this marriage"--would last. "Either."

And then there was House.

"... and Cameron, run his blood and look for sickle-cell," House said. He dropped the John-Doe-coma-patient file on the table and looked expectantly at them.

Chase got up to head to the patient's room. Cameron just stared blankly. "Wait, you want me to do the labs?"

"Well, unless you're incapable of looking through a microscope," House said. "In which case we can get you one of those kiddie chemistry sets with the soft rounded corners."

She looked up at Chase, who was hesitating by the door. "But... I mean, aren't there lab technicians for that?"

Chase cleared his throat. "House doesn't trust doctors who can't do their own labwork."

_What, did he get used to having someone who behaves like a sub around?_ was her first thought. She blinked it back, swallowed, and stood to follow his directions.

Chase stopped by while she was peering through the microscope. "How're you holding up?"

"It isn't sickle-cell," she said, "but there are some interesting deformities... is House always like that?"

"Always," Chase said. "Real sweetheart."

She looked up from the microscope, tried to figure out if he'd actually meant what he sounded like he meant. He caught her looking and rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Is it 'ask the switch stupid questions' time already?"

"Sorry," she said, eyes back on the microscope.

"Yeah, well, here's one for free: No, I haven't ever subbed and topped at the same time; I think it's physically impossible."

Her ears were burning. "I said sorry, and I meant it."

He stopped talking. She focused on forming a complete description of the irregularities of every single blood cell she could see in the microscope's field. She considered switching to a lower magnification when she was done.

"Yeah, sorry," Chase finally said. "I guess 'asshole' rubs off."

"That must be it," she said. She took a deep breath and stood. "C'mon, let's go figure out what's wrong with our patient."

* * *

Her days and weeks quickly became defined by the routines of the hospital. Every week, or so, House would take on a patient, or she or Chase would demand he take on a patient, and it would take a few days for them to hash out a diagnosis, and then they'd treat them. Once they figured out the diagnosis, House would lose all interest and go back to hiding in his office, surfing the 'net, only leaving to bother Wilson.

(She had to admit she really didn't understand that relationship. Subs are subs and tops are tops and if Wilson wasn't wearing House's collar, what the hell was he doing hanging around with him? His wife should have been pissed. Cameron would have been, if her husband had... if he had, before he died.)

She really enjoyed the diagnostic part of her job. House wanted her and Chase to stand up to him, to argue. It made her feel less like he wanted her to bend over his desk and take a paddling, which was good, because sometimes she thought he wanted that because of some super-dom complex and sometimes she thought he didn't have any sexual thoughts at all.

The weeks were also measured by Chase's steady progression of significant (or insignificant) others. Cameron really didn't mean to keep tabs, but the whole idea fascinated her. Emily was gone a week after she got there, replaced by an amazon who wouldn't uncuff his hands until they were _inside_ the hospital lobby. After her was the wiry Greek guy who she didn't meet until one day Chase had an explosive breakup with him after work, but who had made Chase unable to sit for two days after their first date. His next sub hung around the conference room giving him footrubs until House kicked her out; that breakup was probably partly House's fault, if the nude photos that turned up in House's mail for the next month were anything to go by. House critiqued the poses out loud at lunch, making Chase seethe, Wilson squirm, and Cuddy grip her butter knife like a shiv.

Chase seemed to go through a new dom or sub every other week. At a ratio of about two to one, not that she was counting. Not that she was noticing, either, that the subs seemed to last longer, but he was much more smug when he was dating doms. Until the inevitable explosion, that is; Chase's breakups were legendary. Like the time when he cut off his collar with a bowie knife in the parking lot and threw it at the well-meaning guy who'd locked it on him.

"Cut yourself shaving?" House asked innocently.

"One line from Crocodile fucking Dundee and you'll find out," Chase snapped.

"I just can't believe you keep a knife like that on you," Cameron said.

Chase looked at her sideways to see if she was joking or not. "I keep it in my car," he said. "For emergencies."

"Or particularly annoying dates?" House said.

"Hey," Chase said, "if you were really my friends, you wouldn't ask me where I hide the bodies."

They'd been through twelve cases and Chase had torn through seven very pretty people when, after an argument over a case, House had looked her in the eyes and said, "If I told you to get on your knees..."

She stared at him, aghast. "I'm a _top."_

He nodded, once, then ordered, "Get on your knees."

Cameron was about to say something very cold and angry but then the world was suddenly about a foot and a half taller, and House was looking down at her with a considering expression. "Interesting."

She panicked, scrambled to her feet, and only barely stopped herself from running all the way to her car.

* * *

"Of course you're a top," Chase said incredulously the next day when she finally got the nerve to ask him about it. "You've got this creepy psychological manipulation thing going on. You do it to all our patients."

Cameron stared at him. "Well, if that isn't the most insulting way to prop up my sense of self-identity, I don't know what is."

"Ask House," he responded automatically.

"No thanks."

He smirked. "He's making you wonder, is that it?"

"No," she said. Chase looked like he didn't believe her, so she continued, "I just wonder what he thinks of me. I mean, is he trying for some kind of pass? Does he think I'm just confused about my orientation?"

"He's not coming on to you," Chase said with so little inflection she had to turn and stare at him. When he noticed, he gave a shrug and said, more lively, "He doesn't even come on to Wilson. Jeez."

"Have you?"

Chase rolled his eyes. "He's _taken._ And not interested. And House told me to cut it out."

Cameron looked at him, incredulous. "Do you always do everything House tells you to?"

His expression went completely flat again. "I don't sleep with people I work with," he said.

"He turned you down."

"I don't sleep with people I work with," he repeated, "and he wasn't interested because he thinks the entire measure of human sexuality is bullshit."

That statement made absolutely no sense, though it could just be she hadn't had enough coffee yet. "Sorry?"

"He thinks," Chase said slowly, "that there's no real difference between doms and subs. That it's all psychological bullshit from our parents or whatever. Don't ever tell him anything about your family, by the way, he loves using that."

She tucked that advice away for the future. "He's on the nurture side of nature versus, huh?"

"Yeah." Chase smirked. "I used to think he wanted to cure me. Now I think he thinks I'm a case study. I think I've disappointed him."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I keep playing with people _I_ want to play with instead of wusses who won't commit to their roles."

"I don't understand that," she admitted, and found herself on the receiving end of an incredulous look. "I mean, wouldn't you be happier with someone who was less extreme..." Chase's expression had gone from incredulous to condescending. "... er..."

"I'm a switch," Chase explained slowly. "That means I like doms..." he held up his hand, _"And_ subs." He flipped his hand over and smiled sweetly. "Not mental incompetents who can't make up their minds."

"Sorry," she said.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I've heard it all before." He rolled his eyes and falsettoed, "'How can you be satisfied with just one other person in bed? How can you control a sub when you've been tied up before? Why don't you find another switch and flip a coin?'"

"Well?"

He glared at her. "Which one?"

"The last one. I mean, that actually seems to have a point. Isn't that the only way you'll be fully satisfied?"

Chase just stared at her for a long second before saying, "Up until the last bit, I wasn't going to threaten to take you over my desk."

She grimaced. "You don't have a desk."

"Minor obstacle."

"And your threats are made less effective by the fact that you still have chafe marks on your wrists." She smirked. "Tell your top to get some better manacles. I'd have thought a doctor would know better."

She left him rubbing at his wrist and glaring, relieved that his suggestion hadn't held any interest for her whatsoever. Whatever House thought about her sexuality, he was wrong.

* * *

Foreman was a top with a type: long-legged black women who enjoyed friendly banter and doing what he asked. He showed zero interest in Cameron, who thanked God for small mercies, and almost negative interest in Chase.

He also refused to roll over for House, ever. Which cheered Cameron up immensely, and probably cheered up Cuddy.

And for a while, everything was normal. As normal as it was going to get, anyway. Having another top there and a regular caseload meant House had something to distract him from Cameron's sexuality.

It was just... digs, every once in a while.

"He thinks you're a sub," Foreman remarked one day after work. They were getting drinks. Cameron had never seen herself as a drinks-after-work doctor, but six months of working with House had changed her mind.

Cameron snorted. "He thinks doms and subs don't exist, if you ask Chase. That it's all a product of our overactive imaginations."

"Bullshit. But you've gotta stand up to him, I swear. You can't let another top impugn your domination like that."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Even my boss?"

"If your boss is crazy and sex obsessed like House? Yeah."

Cameron smirked and took a drink. She let her eyes wander over to a table by the bar where a trio of subs were drinking. They sent glances her way and grinned, shyly, before giggling, heads together.

Foreman was grinning at her. "Go for it."

She shook her head. "I'm not cruising right now."

"So? You look wound up." He pointed. "You need to get laid. And one of those kids over there is just what you need."

"Foreman," she complained, "I'm not going to pick up someone in a bar just to get laid." She straightened up in her seat. "We live in enlightened times. We don't just take home subs one night and break their hearts the next morning."

"So make breakfast," he suggested, expression innocent.

She looked back at the trio. There was a blonde girl about her height, a guy who could have been her brother, and a black guy. The black guy smiled, batting his eyelashes in her direction. Beautiful curled ringlets of hair, brilliant teeth...

Cameron looked over at Foreman, who was watching with a blank expression. He gave her a smile, trying to show he wasn't disapproving.

"I think I'm just going to go home and get some sleep," she said. She was gratified that he tried not to look relieved as she left her tab on the table and shrugged on her coat.

* * *

"I am _sick_ of being second-guessed because I'm a sub!" Wilson snapped at House.

Cameron froze in the doorway between House's office and the conference room, test results in hand. Both men looked up and saw her at the same time, and Wilson reflexively winced.

"Speaking of second-guessing your work," House said, "here are those biopsy results. Thanks, Cameron."

She handed the folder over, unable to stop herself watching Wilson, who was looking at the floor, acutely aware he'd been speaking out of turn. "Who's second-guessing you?" she couldn't help asking. "Dr. Cuddy?"

"Ha," he said without mirth. "That I could handle."

"Thank you, Dr. Cameron," House said firmly.

She nodded and turned to leave. It wasn't until she was halfway back to the clinic that she thought of half a dozen encouraging things to say, like "It's ridiculous that people second-guess you, you're one of the best in your field." Or "Nobody earns the right to be head of a department on their knees." Though he probably wouldn't have appreciated that one.

Foreman and Chase were running PCR gels when she was done with her hours at the clinic. "I still can't believe we have to run our own tests," Foreman griped when she showed up. "Can't House get a couple of people who are paid to do this instead of us?"

"House doesn't trust doctors who can't do their own labwork," Chase said.

"Maybe he's just gotten used to having you around," Foreman said.

Cameron hesitated behind them, keeping quiet.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Foreman shrugged. "You like this kind of work, right?"

"No," Chase snapped. "I find it stupid and repetitive and a waste of my brains. And the only reason I do it--all right, two reasons--is House would string me up if I refused and this way I get to see the results before he does."

"Um, Chase?" she asked tentatively.

He swiveled around to glare at her. "Yes?"

She straightened her shoulders. "How much shit do you get for being a switch?"

Chase snorted. "Unbelievable amounts, from employers and co-workers alike," he said, turning back to his work.

"What about patients?" she asked.

He stared at the timer on the PCR. "Usually I just let them think I'm a sub," he finally admitted. "It's slightly less of a pain in the arse than explaining and dealing with the fallout."

Foreman laughed. "Well, as long as you can identify that way."

"See?" Chase said, eyes unmoving. "Unbelievable shit."

"Chase, you just dumped your latest sub for being too boring," Foreman said. "Why don't you just admit that your orientation means you're not looking for a real relationship, just a series of one-night stands? You'll be more relaxed."

"Shit precisely like that," Chase said, monotone. The PCR beeped, and he jammed his finger into the print key.

Chase's next top lasted four months. After the first two he showed up to work wearing a collar. Even House seemed impressed, with his persistence if nothing else.

The collar lasted until Chase's dad showed up one day, unannounced, all the way from Sydney. He didn't mention the collar. As far as Cameron could tell, he didn't even look at it. It was gone the next day, along with any mention of the woman who'd locked it on him.

That afternoon Cameron was going to knock on Dr. Wilson's nearly-closed door (subs weren't allowed to close their office doors by hospital policy, but as head of oncology Wilson could bend the rules a bit) when she heard a strangled sob from inside. Guiltily, she peeked through the crack and made out Chase, sitting on the floor beside Wilson's desk, head in his hands, shaking. Wilson was gingerly stroking his hair, caught between his reluctance to touch anyone else while wearing his wife's collar and his natural compassion.

She backed away, resolving to come back in half an hour and never speak of it to anyone.

* * *

Doms on drugs hurt their subs. She'd had that drilled into her head from grade school onward. The patient who coughed HIV-infected blood into her face and then sloppily apologized didn't agree, but she wasn't sure she should take his word for it.

"The thing about it, though," he said, leaning forward intensely, "is that you don't _have_ to dominate. That's the secret. You can just totally let go. No more responsibilities, no more bullshit, just doing what you want to do."

So it was Chase that she called, pretending to take him up on his offer of drinks to get her mind off the virus. After she put down the phone, she popped a couple of the pills, to give them time to sink in.

Chase's expression when she finished slamming him into her door and exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue was priceless. While he gaped at her, she ordered, "Bed. Now."

"Cameron," he stuttered. "You're..."

"Stoned," she finished. "Bed. Now."

He grabbed her hands as she reached for his shirt buttons and looked into her eyes far more clinically than she would have liked. "Your pupils are dilated... you're in no condition to be giving orders."

"Fine," she said. "You give the orders."

"Nnno, you're in no condition to take orders, either," he said. Then he smiled. "But thanks for the confidence."

"Chase..."

"Let's just take it one thing at a time," he said, and finally let her start taking off his shirt.

And all he had to do was pin her hands to the mattress as he thrust into her and she had more orgasms in an hour than she'd had in six goddamn months of wonderful married bliss.

* * *

Coming down off meth was worse than anything she's experienced before. It wasn't made better when House looked at Chase and asked, "So, did you show her how the other half lives?"

"Well, since she asked so nicely," Chase said.

She could feel their eyes on her, and the look Foreman gave her made her want to throw up a little, and she turned and walked out, right then and there. Foreman caught up before got twenty feet. "Hey. Cameron. Cameron!"

"What?" she growled.

He hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder. "You should get some Ativan. Settle you down."

"Oh, you think I need to be taken care of, all of a sudden?"

Foreman pulled his hand back. "I don't think you're a sub, if that's it."

"And what if I were?" She jerked her head back at the conference room. "Or a switch? Would you treat me like you treat Chase?"

He frowned. "You're a better doctor than Chase is."

"Oh yeah?" She wanted to start pacing again, tucked her hair behind her ears, stopped herself from pacing, rubbed her hands together. "Is that because I'm a better doctor or because I'm a top?"

"Because you're a better doctor," he repeated. He sighed and lowered his voice. "My problem with Chase isn't that he's a switch. It's that he has this whole pretense that he's got it all figured out, and he can't keep a sub or a top for longer than a week."

"Two weeks," she said. "Average."

"Right. I think subs make great doctors. Look at Wilson." Foreman gave her a stern look. "If you really think you're a sub, after all this? Or a switch? I'm not going to give you shit about it."

"Like you don't give Chase any?" she asked. She didn't wait for him to answer.

* * *

Chase didn't report her for disciplinary. Which would have been his right; she was the top, she had been on drugs, she could have hurt him. Even though he'd been more of a top than she had. House could have punished her, anyway, as her supervisor; she was actually surprised when he didn't.

She was spinning blood for the HIV guy when Chase came up and sat down next to her. "Sorry," he said.

Cameron shrugged. "It's my fault. I'm the top."

"Oh, because subs aren't responsible for anything?"

"You weren't acting like much of a sub."

"You can't have it both ways."

She sighed, and turned away from her work. "So what do I do now?"

He raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... what do I do? I'm... just not sure I'm a top, anymore."

Chase snorted. "Great. That's step one. Now you figure out what you actually want."

"Was it that easy for you?"

"No." He smiled, hesitantly. "I was a dom all through med school, you know? That's what it still says on my driver's license."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "And... I just started experimenting. And it turns out that nobody gives a shit what you do in bed as long as you play nice in public. And there are plenty of subs out there who are happy to tell you what they want, if you ask."

There was that funny twinge in her chest again, fear or longing or both. "I just... don't know if I'm comfortable giving up that level of control."

Chase laughed. She stared, confused. "That's... sorry," he said. "That's one of those stupid misconceptions I had to get over, too."

"I don't..."

"Have you ever screwed up with a sub?" He looked at her seriously. "Had them safeword out, or just scream bloody murder for you to stop?"

Seventeen years old. Her first serious submissive. He'd wanted to play with clothespins. Cameron shuddered just remembering it. "Yes."

"Right. Every top does that once... _maybe_ twice, if it's a new partner who's bad at setting boundaries." Chase was looking unhappy, too, caught up in his own bad experiences, no doubt. "You have to stop. Anyone who _could_ keep pushing after something like that is mentally ill."

"I remember those sex-ed videos... did you get those in high school? Stuck in the gym with the other tops, watching awful things from the 60s called things like _Safewords and Safe Sex_ and _My Sub is Special_?"

He grinned. "Oh, yeah. And then sneaking cigarettes with the other tops and talking about how of course, _our_ subs wouldn't need safewords, we'd all be good enough to read them like a book."

Cameron frowned. "You used to smoke?"

"Hey, my dad was a doctor. I needed to rebel."

She smiled, then looked away. "I'm just not sure I'm..."

"So take it one thing at a time." He shrugged. "Nobody's saying you have to prove House right by changing all at once. Just... try some things out."

* * *

Cameron picked her up at a bar; cute, blonde hair in tight ringlets that fell to her waist, a terrific smile. Her name was Becky; she was wide-eyed and enthusiastic, in graduate school to become a teacher. She liked the Indigo Girls and Cameron's hand on her wrist.

After she'd made her come five or six times, Cameron untied Becky from her bed and leaned against the bars on her headboard. "Okay," she said, as Becky sat up next to her, grinning. "Now, when you go down on me... hold my hips down."

"Okay," Becky said, and kissed her. Cameron rested her arms on top of the headboard and hung on, and when she closed her eyes she pretended she'd been ordered not to let go.

One thing at a time.


End file.
